Don't Be a Baby
by Winchester and Winchester
Summary: Ficlet: Jo is injured in a hunt and Dean cares for her.


Dean kicked the bar door open and slipped inside, Jo in his arms, cursing at him every step of the way. The bar seemed abandoned but at least the light switch still worked. "Would you just stop flailing for two seconds?" Dean demanded as he roughly laid her on the bar table, his harsh tone a byproduct of the adrenaline that was tearing at him inside. Jo stopped trying to push him away but her eyes were still wild with fight. "Don't be a baby."

Jo's eyes widened, ready to retort until she saw the almost forgotten smile on his lips as he worked to tie his belt around her leg to stop the bleeding. "Don't quote me, Dean Winchester," she hissed, her own lips curving.

He glanced up, their eyes meeting for a second. "Don't say I don't listen to you." She didn't remember saying that to him but in this state, she could barely think of anything past the pain. "Okay, don't tense up, the belt will take care of the bleeding but then I've gotta get the bullet out."

Dean kept his eyes from her now and she knew why. "Dean, you didn't mean to."

"Yeah, like that matters."

"Do you want me to shoot you to make you feel better?" The wayward bullet had been a mistake and it was by total chance that it ended up in Jo's leg.

Dean scoffed quietly, turning away to grab the First Aid kid. Flipping it open, he set it on the table at her feet. "I've never heard of a bar that doesn't have a beer but.. I don't have anything for you to take so you'll have to just grin and bear it." He glanced in her direction and caught her forced smile. "Yeah, that's good."

She laughed once but the searing pain that was turning into more of a feeling of a million needles poking her thigh because of the lack of blood flow stole her attention once more. "Just hurry up, will ya?"

Dean nodded, gripping the scissors firmly as he carefully swiped up the length of her pants to where his belt forbade more cutting. Pushing the split fabric aside, his eyes took in the length of her naked leg, unintentionally.

"Dean, come on," she groaned, her head now lying back against the table and her eyes tightly closed.

Dean shook his head, clearing the thoughts that just poured in and grabbed the instrument he would need. The sound of thunder outside clapped loudly and the lights flickered. Perfect, he thought with a sigh. "Okay… hold your breath."

Jo inhaled deeply and bit her lip and she held it. Dean used a towel to wipe away the remaining blood, thankful that the belt was doing its job and deadening her senses in the limb. The sharp instrument slipped into the wound and she gasped. Obviously her senses weren't as dead as he had hoped. She cursed under breath as he worked as quickly as he could. "You're a butcher," she barely whispered.

Dean smiled against the situation. "You're welcome."

It only took a few seconds to retrieve his bullet but it felt like longer with Jo's moans of pain. Dean could almost feel her pain. "There, there, got it." He lifted the offensive piece of ammunition and dropped it into an ashtray, immediately setting to taping a bandage over the barely bleeding wound. She released a sob and it was the first time Dean noticed that she was crying. He set down the instruments when the bandage was in place and walked to her side, pulling up a chair as he took her hand. She didn't look at him and instead kept her eyes closed, ashamed to be crying in front of him.

"I'm sorry, Jo. I'm really sorry."

It took a moment for the sobs to subside before she replied, "I know. It's… it's okay." The sweat on her forehead gleamed in the light, Dean noticed, just before a blinding white strike of lightening hit outside and thunder clapped with it. And just like that, the room was dark. "Oh yeah, that's great," Jo said with a mix between a sob and a laugh.

"At least it waited until I got the bullet out," Dean replied. The moon acted as a dim light pouring into the dirty windows.

Jo slowly turned her head to look at him and gave a weak smile. "Thanks."

He nodded, feeling equally as exhausted. But he knew her pain was making her tired as well. "Sorry I don't have anything for you."

She bit her lip and his eyes accidentally slipped down to her mouth. "It's okay. I mean it's not preferred but whatever." She sighed and began to sit up.

Dean stood quickly, placing both hands on her shoulders. "What do you think you're doing?"

"You got it out, the bleeding's stopped, we have to get to Sam and my Mom."

"No, no, no. Jo, you're kidding me."

She grunted as she pushed his hands away, her stubbornness obviously not dulled by the injury. "Dean, this whole reenacting thing is getting old and-"

"This isn't reenacting, I'm serious. You got shot, Jo. I shot you." Jo's eyes softened and she stopped pushing against him. "You're not just gonna walk out of here and be okay. You're not okay."

He looked away and Jo reached up to him, placing a hand against his face. His eyes slowly dragged back to her and she saw the pain in the green pools. The ever so familiar pain. If there was one thing Jo wished she could do, it was take away Dean's pain. He didn't resist her touch so her hand remained, cupping the stubbled cheek with a mother's gentleness. "Dean, I am okay. It's a wound, it'll heal."

Dean made no movement, no reply, but instead just stared at her. "Jo…" he whispered before his own hand lifted to her face. She knew what would happen next and suddenly the pain was forgotten amidst a flood of fantasies. Would he kiss her? Would his hands tangle in her hair? Would she touch the arms that were filled with such strength?

His hand moved from her cheek to the back of her neck and she felt shivers run up her spine to where his hand lay. His eyes drifted closed as he leaned forward, their lips barely meeting. She heard his breath hitch in his throat when her hand moved to his hair, her fingers tugging gently on the short, rustled mess. He moved in closer, his body standing between where her legs were parted, his chest against hers. His hands moved to surround her face as he deepened the kiss.

She tasted what she had silently wanted for months and the tease between alcohol and something sweet made her feel dizzy.

Jo felt Dean's hand slide over her shoulder, arm, side, to her hip bone where it stayed, restlessly. "Dean," she whispered when they parted for air, foreheads resting against each other's.

He licked his lips, obviously undone by the moment's occurrence. Dean took a step back, wiping a hand over his face. Jo watched him carefully. Was he upset?

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, no, nothing." He flashed a smile and turned away.

"Dean, seriously. What?"

His arms crossed across his broad chest before he looked back. "I'm not gonna do this. Not here. Now."

She tilted her head slightly, wanting to make sure they were on the same page. "This?"

"Yeah, you know…" he motioned back and forth over the length of the table, his eyes wide. "You know."

Jo found it funny that a trained hunter and known womanizer couldn't form the words. "Okay. Yeah, I know. Why not?"

"Because I shot you."

She felt a smile begin to form. "And you think I'll assume that you shot me so that you could bring me to an abandoned bar where you would fix me up, make the electricity go out by a 'freak' storm so that it's all dark and romantic, and then take advantage of me?"

Dean looked at her with open frustration that soon turned into amusement. "No. Although now that you mention it…"

"Dean, I'm a big girl."

"I know. But let's just… you know, wait. Okay?"

She knew he wasn't denying her out of a lack of want but rather a respect for her. That endearment somehow shouted above the desire she felt. "Okay."

He moved toward her, placed a slow kiss on her forehead, and helped her lay back down, tucking his jacket under her head for as much comfort as could be found on the table. And within minutes, both were sleeping, Dean on the chair resting closely to Jo.


End file.
